give me something to believe
by kat3.alwaysxox
Summary: Or rather, The 20 Things Series.  #1: Glimmer- Here's the thing; Glimmer Cassius isn't really afraid of dying.


…

Quick note: I started reading the Hunger Games series two years ago and fell in love with it. I never really was inspired to write anything about it until I recently reread the series, and realized there are so many great (and not so great) characters that we never get to see their lives. Almost half the people in the books die, but what were they like before they were dead? This is a '20 Things' series. 20 moments, facts, or thoughts experienced by every single character in the Hunger Games series, including a couple of OC characters that were mentioned, but died before we even knew their names. It is rated 'Teen' for language and content, but there won't be anything too offensive. Some of the characters will be a little dark, and there will be some rather _interesting_ topics, but in a book partially centered around death, what more could you expect. Please be patient with me, and I'll try to post as often as possible, hopefully at least once a week! Character requests are welcome, but I will say that I've started chapters for Mrs. Everdeen, Peeta, Katniss, Finnick, Annie, Haymitch, and Johanna. Thanks for putting up with my ramble, and now: on with the story!

…

give me _something_ to believe.

(Or rather, The 20 Things Series)

**#1:** Glimmer- Here's the thing; Glimmer Cassius isn't really afraid of dying.

…

1.

_onetwothreefour,_ death is knocking at your door

_fivesixseveneight,_ it doesn't pity, doesn't wait

_ninetenbeginagain,_ don't fight death, you won't win

(Here's the thing: Glimmer Cassius isn't really afraid of dying.)

2.

She lives up to her name.

She sparkles and shines and glistens and _glimmers_ ten times over.

It's all big smiles with white teeth and glossed lips, deep set eyes with bright emerald irises and long lashes, and long golden hair falling in delicate curls.

_You're so gorgeous/beautiful/pretty/sexy/lovely/(here is where you insert a compliment or lie, doesn't make a difference)._

But when she looks in the mirror, she sees slightly crooked eyes and wide hips and big thighs and a misshaped nose and _one day, when she is only ten years old, she sends her fist flying right into the mirror, smashing it into millions of little, red polka-dotted pieces that fall at her feet._

Her parents gasp and rush her to the medics, bickering over their concerns that her perfect hands might scar.

_As if that's the real problem._

The medics stitch her up, and one of her nurses joke: "Oh dear, looks like you'll be getting seven years of bad luck."

(She laughs, because if she's learned anything during the mere decade she's been alive it's that luck doesn't really matter in Panem.)

3.

Her best friend is Garnett. He's fifteen, two years older then her. He knows all her dirty secrets and urges, and she thinks she loves him a little bit sometimes.

She's dancing when he stumbles in.

She loves dancing.

So much, in fact, as the Games had begun to draw to a close, she had snuck away, back to her house, to dance. They wouldn't punish her. Her uncle is Head Peacekeeper, straight from years of training in the Capitol, making him practically royalty.

The Games are over now, and Garnett bursts through her bedroom door. She's pilé-ing. Up and down and up and down, not once stumbling or breaking form.

Her pink slippers are stained red, her feet bleeding.

_Up and down and up and down._

Garnett empties his stomach out onto the wooden floor, retching and retching and retching until finally he leans back against the wall and passes out.

She keeps pilé-ing, because she already knows what he's going to say, and she's afraid that if she stops, she'll end up the same way he is, whether it's out of guilt or anger or sadness or because she's just dizzy.

(She can hear practically hear his voice: "Beam is _dead_. Sweet, kind-hearted Bea. Your cousin, your flesh and blood, is dead. My girlfriend is dead. Bea. The one who never wanted to be in the Games. The one who saw it as a sentence, not an honor. Bea is dead. _Gone_. Dead.")

_Up and down and up and down._

4.

Annie Cresta wins. _Crazy Cresta wins._

She just laughs; because of course the mad girl would find a way to have luck in such an unforgiving place. All she did was swim.

As she stares down at her lifeless cousin in a wooden box, she can only see in red fury.

_All she did was swim._

5.

Garnett _fucks_ her three months and two days later.

(She doesn't even try to censor it, because there's nothing censored or beautiful about. It's not like they're giving themselves to each other or making love or any other thing that might indicate that it was _meaningful_. Fucksfucks_fucks_. She'll say it a thousand times.)

It would've been his and Bea's anniversary, which she thinks is stupid, because at the ages of fifteen and sixteen, how can you love someone to the point where there are anniversaries?

(But then she remembers, she's barely fourteen, and she thinks that if he asked, she might just give him her whole heart, because if she wants anyone to have it, it would be him, and she knows he would take good care of it.)

He calls her beautiful and gorgeous and Bea and it pains her to think that the first two names hurt more, because he knows she hates it, but he calls her it anyway.

She leaves before he wakes up.

He acts like it never happens, and if it wasn't for the red and purple bruise on her pale neck, she would doubt it ever did.

6.

"When it's all said and done, what do you think love is?"

Garnette doesn't even look up when he asks the question, and continues to kick a rock as they walk to school.

_You._ She wants to say. _You are love. The abstraction of someone like you. How I miss you when we are away from each other for only minutes. How you smile at me when I make you laugh. How I drown in your blue eyes whenever you look my direction. How you're the only one who truly understands and listens and knows there's more to me then a pretty face. How I never regret for a minute that you take everything from me and I give everything to you and I waste days and days on building something that will never be completed. How every day I ask you what you're thinking about, and how you never answer the right way, and you never say Bea, but I know you're thinking Bea, but I don't care. How you called me Bea that one night, and I responded because I just wanted you to be happy, like how you use to be. How that one night you act like never happened keeps me going, sometimes. How I can't have you, but embrace the idea of you anyway._

Instead, she says: "Love is luck."

Because it sort of is. You have to be lucky to find someone who would do anything for you. Someone who invests their whole point of their being in you, so much so that their thoughts and actions revolve around you, as if you both are conjoined as a unit. The point where both your hearts beat together, and your lungs breathe simultaneously, breaths shortening and slowing and quickening all at once. Where you are happy for the person, even if it means your pain, and they are pained that you want them just want them happy. All the emotions blend together, bleeding into each other. You have to be lucky to find that one person you're meant to be with, you doesn't let you down when you lower your guard. Who loves you unconditionally, and cannot think of a day that would go by when they don't want to be by your side. Luck is finding someone who spends there life protecting you.

"But you don't believe in luck."

"Exactly."

Her answer is quick, and he laughs.

But come to think of it, she thinks she may be right.

7.

_Garnett Glenhart_

The name is called and her heart drops. Another one. They're taking another one from her.

(All she can think about is that nurse years ago who laughed about seven years of bad luck, and how maybe there is such thing as luck, and it's mocking her.)

8.

She visits him in a small room, right before he leaves.

She hugs him, and whispers: "Promise you'll come back?"

He whispers goodbye, not promises.

9.

Sweet little Johanna Mason from District 7 kills him without even flinching.

Garnett. A boy who, as everyone else in District 1, had been training since the measly age of four years old has an axe stuck in his stomach.

His face contorts in ways she had never seen and he doubles over, his blood staining the ground, as life begins to slowly leave his blue eyes.

Four hours. It takes four hours for the canon to finally sound.

This time, it's her turn to get sick and pass out.

(She's not surprised that when she passes out, there are no shapes or light or anything. It's just _black_, sort of like her.)

10.

There is no purpose in her life anymore.

They all look and stare at her and say things like: _Oh, such a pretty girl. Such a shame she's so unstable, you'd never be able to tell if you didn't know._

She wonders if she feels the way Annie Cresta feels.

_Crazy Cassius._

She's swimming, too. Swimming in and out of darkness and light, of consciousness and sub consciousness. She's not living much anymore, just floating. She kind of likes it, except she doesn't really.

Unlike Annie Cresta, she's not swimming to win.

She's just swimming.

11.

The reapings come and go for three years, and suddenly she's seventeen.

_Glimmer Cassius._

She smoothens out her green, low-cut dress, and runs her fingers through her long, golden hair, and smiles her winning smile as she walks up on to the platform, almost as if she's in some sort of beauty pageant, and not on her way towards death.

A boy by the name of Marvel is called, and his eyes widen, but he quickly smirks.

After all, they've been training for years. They were _born_ for this.

12.

She finds it a little ironic that it's been seven years since she broke a mirror, and she's lost everything she could possibly value as any sort of luck.

(Garnett is gone. And he's never coming back. And she still has to face him every single time her heart beats or she takes a breath or when she does just about _anything_. Her sanity is pending. And she's never going to be the same. And her only source of comfort is her red-dyed ballet slippers. Her beauty is questioned. And she still has her emerald eyes and flawless skin and golden hair, but none of it really matters to her anymore. And she's starting to wonder if she was ever really beautiful, because she's been broken since that mirror broke.)

The only thing left to lose is her life, which isn't saying much, since she's already lost herself.

She decides that in the arena, she's not going to _try_ to die, but she's not particularly going to put any effort into trying to live, either.

13.

During her first night in the Capitol, she can't sleep, and she finds herself wandering the halls, all the way to a small little room, illuminated by a single lamp.

Her district mate, Marvel, is sitting in an armchair, absentmindedly flipping a coin as he stares at nothing. She sits down in the chair opposite him, and they sit in silence, up until he breaks it.

"I've always been afraid of failure." He says, still flipping the coin. Heads, tails, heads, tails… "I've never really been scared of dying, though. Hadn't really thought about it. But, I was lying in bed, and I realized failure and dying are kind of the same thing. Like, if you die, you kind of have failed at life."

She crumples her forehead. She has no idea why he's confiding in her, or even talking to her, because last time she checked, she wasn't a therapist. And besides that, making personal connections with people who are in the Games with you is stupid, because sooner or later, either of you, or more probably both of you, will end up dead.

She sighs, pursing her lips. "I don't believe in failure. I feel as if the only time I've failed is when I'm doing something I don't want to be doing, because, in reality, almost everyone lives their life to please someone else, whether it's a teacher or a parent or a boss or a boyfriend…" Or the Capitol. It's not said out loud, but it still hangs in the air. "I think it's all a waste of time in the end, because eventually we all die, and for what? It's all a waste of a life."

He lets out a small breath. "You almost make it sound like you almost want to die."

She doesn't want to get more involved with him, so she just shrugs, and responds, simply:

"I'm not afraid of dying."

And it's the truth.

"You must be pretty confident you'll win then." He laughs, and the room falls back into silence.

She doesn't bother to correct him.

14.

Glimmer thinks that just maybe she was born backwards.

She listens to unfamiliar people say unfamiliar things and the only thing she can think about right now is the little water droplet that is rolling down the mirror in front of her. She stares at the droplet, wondering where it came from, and watches as it distorts her face.

People are pulling and plucking and oh-ing and ah-ing, and tucking her body parts into a gold dress that squeezes all the air out of her lungs and makes her feel as if she's a walking advertisement.

(But come to think of it, she probably is.)

_Sexy._ They tell her. _Be sexy._

She scoffs a little, and responds: _Naturally._

She's the first to be interviewed, and she dazzles the audience.

But she really can't bring herself to care. Her mind spins at the questions asked and her tongue drips out words that really don't mean a thing, and she feels as if she's watching herself as oppose to actually living. As if her mind is taking on a life of it's own, and she's merely a pawn in some sort of game where there are no winners or losers. Only survivors. _Survivors_. And she only has three minutes. Three minutes to seal her fate, to convince people why she should live, why she deserves the chance to survive. Three minutes to give people a reason to love her. But if they loved her so much she wouldn't be up here. Isn't death a form and act of hate? Then why are they sentencing her death out of love? Why do they love watching her suffer, entertained by her pain?

Maybe she was born backwards, into a world where hate is love and love is hate.

As the buzzer goes off, signifying her time is up, she smiles one last time.

_She's going to die._

15.

Before she enters the arena, she finds herself staring at the ring on her finger, watching the gem catch the light.

It's poisoned. She knows it. She can see where the almost undetectable line between the emerald gem and the gold band, where it can twist into a deathly spike.

Garnett's parents gave it to her, as a token of her district. _Use it wisely_, they said.

She wonders if she should just stick in herself right now, save the other tributes from the pleasure.

Instead, it's confiscated, and she kind of wishes she had seized the opportunity.

16.

_Let the games begin._

She's a Career, automatically, due to her district. But as soon as everyone else begins to move towards each other, she moves away, grabbing the nearest weapon: a bow and arrows.

She laughs. She's never used one in her life, so they'll be practically useless.

She watches as her fellow Careers kill off the weaklings.

(She kills no one.)

17.

On the first night, while she's setting up camp along with Laine, the girl from District 4, Cato, Clove, Marvel, and Will bring back two boys. Glimmer recognizes one as the tribute from District 3, who can't be older then thirteen, and the other as the fire boy from District 12, Rye, or Oat, or some type of bread.

Laine stands, and walks over to the others. "Why are they here?"

She doesn't ask with spite, but only in a soft and puzzled manner.

Glimmer is starting to categorize her fellow Careers. There's Cato and Clove from District 2, who are both killing machines, but not particularly bright. And Marvel, well, in all honesty, she's waiting for Cato to snap and smash his head in with a rock, because not even a day into the Games, he's constantly trying to be in control, when it's obvious he's not. Laine and Will represent District 4, Laine being soft and not skilled in attack methods, but she can make impressive nets and knots, and then Will, who is the oldest at 18, and is naturally protective and extremely strong.

"They both had requests, which seemed to interest Clove and Will, here." Cato's voice brings Glimmer back into reality. She notices the District 3 boy shaking slightly, as Marvel's grip tightens on his shoulder, and takes the initiative to get involved with the conversation.

"Being?" She pries, and looks over at bread boy.

Will crosses his arms. It's not in a threatening manner, but more in an amused way. "I think they can explain themselves." He nods towards the smaller boy. "Go ahead, Smalls. What is your life worth?"

"I- uh, well- I can protect your f- f- food. And supplies." He pauses, and then quickly continues. "I mean, I can't personally, but I can re-retrigger the bombs, it's easy really, just a few wires, and I know how to get a- a- around them, so then all the supplies will be protected."

It's a good argument, and she can see the rest of the team nod in agreement.

"Alright, how about you? _Looover_ boy, hmm? What interest to us are you?"

"I can help you catch her."

They all know who she is: the girl with the braid.

Cato nods, the two hostages are realized, and Glimmer realizes how _stupid_ he must be.

She sees the look in his blue eyes, which are so familiar to her that it hurts. She dreams of that look, and is haunted by it every single time she closes her eyes, even if it's to blink.

_Love._

Lover boy has a plan.

She doesn't say anything though. She'll let the others figure it out for themselves.

18.

The second night into the Games she can't sleep. So, instead, she lies awake thinking. She notices how restless lover boy is. Probably kept awake by the need to protect the one he loves, she decides. Unable to close his eyes as he rethinks his plan over and over to see if there are any possible faults.

She kind of hopes lover boy's plan works.

Somewhere deep, deep down, she hopes no one ever figure it out, because if anyone deserves to win, it's lover boy. He might as well be sacrificing his life for the braid girl, because one wrong move and Cato will kill him, and he must know this. She hopes that he can live, because it'd be a shame to waste a lucky one on something so trivial as a sick form of entertainment.

It's so unfortunate, she thinks, because at some point or another, at least one of them has to die. And the odds aren't particularly in their favor, so more then likely, they'll both end up dead.

Then she thinks of sweet, sweet Bea, and her precious Garnett, and doesn't feel so badly for them anymore.

At least, when it comes down to it, they'll end up dead together.

19.

Katniss, the girl with the dark braid, the lover, is up in a tree; trapped.

Cato tries to climb, as does Glimmer.

She fails; they camp.

She awakens to a buzzing and a sharp sting. _Tracker Jackers_.

They're deadly, and she's already beginning to feel their poison seeping into her blood stream.

Everyone awakens quickly, screaming.

One. Two. Three.

Three stings. She stands, swatting at them. She's not supposed to die like this. She's supposed to die in a bloody way, glimmering and glistening under the sun as she basks in her own blood.

Four. Five. Six.

They're getting to her now, and the pain is unbearable.

She's back on the ground. Is she screaming? She can hear screaming, but she can't tell if it's her. Is her mouth open? Can she scream?

She's swimming, and darkness is setting in, and all these thoughts are starting to haunt her. She can see Garnett's eyes, and can see the mirror shattering, and she can hear Bea's laughter, and she sees the coin in Marvel's hand flipping _headtailsheadtails_,and her bloody ballet shoes are dancing _upanddownandupanddown_.

Seven. Eight. Nineteneleventwelve…

Twelve stings? She's losing count. Her skin is itchy and swelling and– wait, is this a dream? She can't tell. She feels _dirty_, like she's covered in blood and dirt and grim, and it's sticking to her skin, and she thinks she's beginning to scratch herself, but she's trying to see her hands, to she if her nails are covered in blood, because she wants to die in blood, because that means at least she'll die _glistening and shimmering and glimmering_, but she just can't and its so frustrating that she screams. Or she thinks she screams. She wants to scream. Is she screaming?

_Seven years of bad luck, seven years of bad luck, seven years of bad luck…_

It's some sort of sick mantra repeating over and over in her head, and it's so true she thinks and tries to drown it out by saying she's not afraid to die over and over again, while she screams and laughs and screams and laughs- wait, is she screaming and laughing, or neither, or both? She can't tell anymore, and it hurts so much, but it feels kind of good, because she's losing feeling of her body, and it feels as if she's swimming, and like her soul is about to jump right out of her body and-

Is she real? It's dark. All dark and, and- Is she dead? She thinks she's dead.

_Boom._

20.

Right as the canon booms, Glimmer Cassius whispers: _"I'm not afraid to die."_

…

_Fin._

Just a quick note: If any of you are my former readers, please know I am resurrecting my SWAC fic "The Falling Game". I am getting back into the characters, and rewriting some of the plot, but within the next two weeks, there will be a new chapter.

Anyway! Sorry for all the lengthy and random side notes, they will not continue. Just the first time I've been back on fanfic in a while. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, regardless, and please do me a favor and drop a review? Let me know if you enjoyed it/hated it/want me to continue with it. Don't hate for mistakes, I'm not currently beta-ed. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and the button is right below, feeling vulnerable.

Thanks for reading.

x Kate


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